Manischewitz, Martinis and Memories of My Grandparents

Cover your eyes and plug your ears, if you are an alcoholic, dry drunk or if you live with an alcoholic. I am going to reveal a family secret that would appall most anyone in the new millennium. As a little child, my grandpa gave me a glass of wine whenever he had one. From the time I was, oh, four on up. I even had my own wine glass. It sits, empty and treasured in my china cabinet. Actually it's a kind of shot glass. It has three levels on it.: Ladies (lowest), Gentlemen (middle). The top level doesn't say anything. It just shows a picture of a pig. Grandpa, grandma and I used to make a regular joke of it. Grandpa would ask me how much. Of course I would request the pig. At which time he would fill my tiny shot glass to the pig with Cask Cream Sherry.

In fact, I would go with him to the liquor store to get his wine and liquor and liquors. In those days, many people kept a liquor cabinet. Yes, even the Dutch Reformed. They just kept theirs in the basement. Grandpa kept his liquor in the cleaning cupboard. Fortunately, Grandpa could hold his drinks, otherwise, guests might have to watch that they weren't served an ammonia cocktail or Lemon Pledge Martini.

Grandpa and Grandma were very social people. They were accomplished hosts. I remember the couples night get-togethers. They had a group of six or seven couples that would go to dinner every month. They would meet at one house for drinks before or after dinner. No one acted drunk. No one was obnoxious. I as the oldest grandchild was much made over. Grandma would visit in her lovely living room. Grandpa would mix drinks in the kitchen. Grandpa had abominable taste in wine. Richard's Wild Rose, Cask Cream Sherry and Maneschewitz were his favorites. We weren't even Jewish! But he was an excellent bar tender. All of their friends said that grandpa could make a martini or Manhattan sit up and bark. Sometimes I was allowed to serve drinks.

As I grew older, he would make whatever drink for me that was in vogue or that I wanted to try. At 16, I heard about a drink called a White Russian. I'd had one at a local restaurant, known to be quite elegant. It was horrible. Grandpas was delicious. I have never had a better Strawberry Margarita or Lime Daiquiri than those Grandpa made either.

Grandma and Grandpa are 'in their graves and oh the difference to me' as Wordsworth says. I have thousands of delightful memories of my grandparents. If I could bottle the memories they would be the best spirits of all.